First Sponge
by JohnRambo
Summary: Spongebob is a former war veteran. After the brutal death of his friends he goes from a happy-go-lucky outgoer to a cold-blooded kiler sworn on vengeance.
1. The Death

**This is a combo of Spongebob and Rambo. Please give reviews so I can know to give more or not. The first chapter is extremely short but other chapters will be a lot longer.**

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Spongebob trailed down the dusty path on the highway. He had a Boy Scout type sleeping bag slung over his right shoulder while a combat knife rested in his back pocket. He would frequently caress his bitter hands as he hiked his way down to Patrick's cabin. Fall was at an end as winter was emerging from it's long slumber.

His eyes encountered the small village lying in a brisk wonderland of colored leaves. Children were frolicking around a pile of autumn plants. Spongebob marked his path to the village to finally catch a glimpse of his childhood friend, Patrick Star. His naïve and innocent personality. His booming roar of a laugh compared to Spongebob's shrill, piercing tittering tongue. Ah, yes. The two would finally reassemble their beautiful and everlasting friendship. Thinking about all of this distracted the sponge's preoccupied mind. He walked his way toward Patrick's mom (looking quite unique in her backwards dotted bandana) and introduced himself.

"Afternoon missus!" Spongebob said in a slight whisper.

"Who might you be?" The woman acknowledged. She seemed to be a bit impatient with Spongebob. He was not a common guest on her turf.

"Name's Spongebob. Spongebob Squarepants. I am assuming you are Patrick's mother." He said with a tad whistle in his throat.

"Yes, I am a matter of fact." The starfish was beginning to get more hasty and less easy-going.

"I am Patrick's friend. We used to play together as children. We also fought in the war together as close partners. You know, 'you watch my back, I'll watch yours' kinda way. I was hoping you could tell me where Patrick is at the moment."

"Go on, child. Tend to the chickens," she said as she made a "hurry up" gesture to a pestering daughter. "I am very sorry, what were you saying? Something about the war?"

"Yes ma'am. Patrick and I were close partners along as childhood friends."

"He is not here anymore," she responded with arrogance.

"Where did he go?" Spongebob said with an abashed voice.

"He passed away," she said holding back any grief. "Doctors said it was pneumonia."

"Oh," Spongebob said trying to act adult like. "I-I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she snarled as she scurried into the wheat fields.

Spongebob heaved his sleeping bag back on his shoulder, balanced. He felt like sitting down but perseverance prevented him from it.

Pneumonia? Yeah right, Spongebob thought to himself. He knew who's fault it was. He knew exactly who to blame. _The government is responsible for this, _he thought to himself. They killed his entire team. Including the brutally tortured Squidward.

Now Squidward was tortured by the enemy through electrical surges. _Brought back only to be humiliated by the government, _he thought. Squidward was brought into the emergency room with assumedly no medical assistance whatsoever. He then died by a massive heart attack.

_They can't get away from me that easily. They are gonna pay! All of them! Starting with every employee at the hospital that killed Squidward. The patience will have to feel the pain Squidward felt. Abandoned and rotting. I will not rest until the score is settled and my vengeance is fulfilled!_


	2. The Hospital

The crisp cold wind whistled through the air as Spongebob walked swiftly to the Gun Shop. He entered the door with caution in order to make sure no one caught any suspicion from him going to the Gun Shop in a hurry.

A piranha fish was standing behind the counter, eagerly waiting for a customer to arrive.

"Good afterno-" His sentence was cut off when Spongebob forcefully threw the piranha's head into the top of the counter causing a massive collision. Spongebob's eye quickly caught the sight of a wall full of guns top to bottom. He promptly grabbed a gun of what appeared to be an M16A1 model machine gun. Below it were two hooks emerging erect-like from the brick wall. Positioned on it was an M203 grenade launcher attachment. Spongebob quickly assembled it together and left the lying piranha in an unconscious fit.

There was no possible way to get to Bikini Bottom Hospital on foot. Spongebob did not have a car either. Most people would give up but Spongebob had already gotten this far and could not quite go back. _Hijack a boatmobile, _he thought to himself, _There is bound to be one coming right around the corner._ The street was bare with boats and would probably be for a while. There was a very seldom chance of a boatmobile to pass by. What seemed like forever, a sleekly painted boatmobile came down the street. Spongebob aimed and pointed his gun accurately at the oncoming boat. He fired on sight. A barrage of bullets came firing out of the barrel. The boat flew out of control and spun around in a rapid circle. It crashed into a light post as it exploded spewing a plethora of fiery sparks of ash and flames.

The fish driving the boat emerged from the demolished boat, confused and puzzled. Spongebob ran to fish and the boat, angered by the destruction of the boat. He produced a combat knife from his back pocket and dug his fingers into the fish's eyes as he forced the fish upon the light post. He hastily thrusted his knife into the fish's cranium. He figured since he had done that much he would quickly jab the knife into several other spots of the fish's body. He did so. Fresh blood spewed from it's mouth, eyes, and many other places throughout. The fish seemed to be traumatized by the violent nature of the yellow sponge.

The fish uttered his final words. "Have m-mercy, p-p-please," he said optimistically. His hope didn't go to far as he was then immediately executed. A child (no more than 14) was riding his bicycle down the sidewalk seeming to have a merry time. Desperate for transportation, Spongebob extracted his knife from the lifeless body and anticipated the fish's arrival. The fish came down the lane with a happy feeling in his head, but a baffled look when he saw the yellow sponge with a knife seemingly targeted for him.

The child swiveled and skidded his bike to the side. No use there, as the sponge came and make a swift lunge across the fish's face producing a bloody scar then a knee in the stomach. The child was quickly dazed. Spongebob did not delay attack. He quickly slashed at the stunned boy causing the fish to drop to his knees. Spongebob had assumed the boy would then immediately call the police. The fish scrambled his way back to his knees, panting and gasping for breath. Looking back, the boy saw Spongebob angrily raging towards him. Spongebob wrapped his arm around the fish's mouth and head as he pried the knife into the back of the boy. Crying with pain, the boy dropped dead. Spongebob kicked the boy into the nearest alleyway and mounted the bike.

During the pedaling, Spongebob had remembered something. A gift from someone in Vietnam. A flashback quickly ensued.

_Patrick stood in the armory loading his guns for combat. Spongebob walked up to Patrick in a wobbly manner. _"Spongebob, that reminds me, I got you a little something. Nothing much." _Patrick slowly handed Spongebob a small case wrapped in dark blue wrapping and a scarlet ribbon to top it. Spongebob hastily unwrapped the present revealing a bandana (or headband with flaps in the back as Patrick had once dubbed it). It was a plain bright red headband with black Japanese text on it. The text read _パートナー, _bold and black. _"It reads "partners," _Patrick exclaimed. _"No matter if we die here or now, we will always be together." _Patrick had gotten a lot smarter and more mature over the years. He still had a touch of unintelligence on him though. _"It's okay, Pat," _Spongebob had said, _"Everyone has a weakness at something."

Now Spongebob had thought in his mind, "_I must wear it. Patrick would want me to do it right now." _Spongebob hit the brakes as he rummaged through his bags. He pulled out the same case Patrick had given him. He opened it carefully but it revealed only dust. Angry, Spongebob started tossing out everything in the bags until he came across a headband flipped on it's side. He held it up to the sky. The sun shined on it causing an odd unnatural reflection. _"The reflection __**MUST **__be a sign from Patrick gazing down in heaven," _Spongebob cheerfully thought to himself. He gladly tied it around his forehead in a tight knot, yanking on the flaps of the headband. Spongebob positioned himself comfortably on the seat of the bicycle as he pedaled off to the hospital.

In a short matter of time, Spongebob had made it to the hospital, no injuries, scratches, or even bruises. Silently, he walked to the door glancing around every once in a while to make sure no one was watching him. He opened the door and was greeted by the startled expression on the receptionist.

"Sir, we don't allow firearms," she said inaudibly. Nevertheless, the barrel of the gun was pointed in her direction. She quickly bolted her arms above her head, but failed when a barrage of hot lead entered her cranium. Alarmed by the sound of gunfire, a nurse walked out in a skinny white hospital uniform. There was no hesitation in firing towards her either. Spongebob then began firing in aimless shooting, not caring whether they went through the wall or ceiling or any other useless object. A body count totaled of 28 fish.

Restless, Spongebob leaned back on a checkered marble wall cracked with bullets. He reclined himself to a comfortable position to pull out a pack of cigarettes he had gotten from camp and situated in his front pocket, waiting for the perfect time to taste the tobacco. He produced a lighter and laid back, relaxing. He had gotten quite the bargain at camp. A few packs of cigarettes, a bag of Doritos, a combat knife for hunting. He had also hit the jackpot with alcohol. The chief had brought in some sleeping bags, weenies for open roasting, and best of all, the booze. A nice archery match would determine the winner of the fine alcoholic beverages. 16oz of Vodka and 2 bottles of rum, was it. A fine prize, but it needed to be _earned_.

"Well you didn't expect me to just give out free drinks, didja dummies?" the chief had said.

He had earned it alright. A nice bull's eye did it for the grateful sponge. 50 yards, the true archer. And now it rested in his bags. _A nice pick me up, _thought the yellow sponge. He hastily juggled his hands about gathering his things and went out to the bike.

The wind hit against his face as he searched the bag for the booze. He had hoped to _**God**_ that he hadn't tossed it out of his bag during the rummaging for his headband. There it was, finely produced vodka and a pair of rum for drinking. Though, it could make a pretty decent bomb. Swirl the rum and vodka together, stick in a rag, and light it up. That's one deadly weapon you got there. So that's what the sponge did. He sprinted back into the hospital as if he were competing for the Special Olympics. He would search every room in the hospital if he had to. Occasionally, the wounded patients would shout, "What are you DOING?" while the yellow sponge searched their cupboards. Eventually, he found a silky cloth rag, a little dirty but it would work like a charm. He unscrewed the vodka and took a good, long whiff. Not wanting to waste a whole 16oz of vodka, he unscrewed the cap off of the rum bottle. It was fine, he had an extra one. Sticking the rag in, he pulled out his lighter and ignited the soon-to-be bomb. Flames bursted and sparked from the glass bottle. Not wanting to be burned alive, Spongebob did not have to think twice about tossing the bottle 10 feet away from him. He quickly ran for his _**life**_ toward the bold red **EXIT** sign at the doorway. He rolled out of the hospital and onto the dead, icy grass. Pant pant pant, deep breath, the ritual formed. He had finally got to his feet, gasping for breath. The building slowly burned down to form crispy ashes. The bottle of vodka was unscrewed with some tasty liquid filled in it.

To be wasteful is one thing, but getting hammered after burning down a hospital is another.


End file.
